Wolf Moon
by Witchy Bee
Summary: How Remus Lupin came to have nothing. Brief snippets from childhood to after the first war.
1. Mother

There were charms to soundproof the basement and wards to keep _it_ from getting out. This wasn't his fault, of course. During the rest of the month he was a very quiet, sweet little boy; his mother just couldn't bring herself to think of that _thing_as her son. She feared if she let him outside too much, neighbors might ask questions about the scars, and she couldn't exactly tell them Remus turned into a bloodthirsty monster that clawed itself raw because it must be locked up without anything to hunt?

For several years his parents did as best they knew how, taking everything one moon at a time. They managed like anyone else with a sick child. Then the letter arrived; it became the source of many heated arguments between Remus' mother and father. When they didn't send a reply owl after a few weeks, Albus Dumbledore decided to pay them a friendly visit.

"I trust your son received our letter, Mrs. Lupin?" he asked kindly, stepping past her to enter the house. The old wizard headed straight for Remus' bedroom without acknowledging his parents hardly at all, who stood by helplessly.

"You can't just—" Mr. Lupin began, but his wife cut him off with a sharp look that said: _He's Albus Dumbledore; he can do whatever he wants._

"Have you read all these books?" Dumbledore addressed the pale boy sitting up in bed, a book open on his lap. More books covered the desk and filled the shelves that lined every wall. Otherwise, the room was quite plain.

"Yes, sir," Remus answered quietly. "I like to learn new things."

"Ah, then surely you must know all about Hogwarts?"

"Oh yes. I've read about it, sir."

"Of course you have. It's a school where you are given an opportunity to learn many interesting things about magic. Not to mention our rather impressive library which I think you will appreciate. Do you know who I am, Remus?"

The boy nodded proudly. "Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. You're the most powerful wizard in the world, sir."

"Arguably," he said modestly, but there was a twinkle in the man's blue eyes. "Tell me, Remus, would you like to attend Hogwarts? We could really use a student so enthusiastic about his education."

"I can't, sir. I'm sorry."

"Why can't you?" Dumbledore asked.

"Because I'm a monster," Remus murmured. "People will be afraid of me. I might hurt someone. No one wants to be friends with a werewolf."

A single silver tear trickled down the headmaster's cheek. He excused himself, saying he needed to have a word with Remus' parents. The boy waited for a little while before he crept out of bed to listen at the door. He knew they were talking about him.

"It's not safe," Mum insisted, growing increasingly hysterical with every word. "What if—"

"Hogwarts is the safest place in the word, I assure you," Dumbledore promised. "Poppy Pomfrey, our very capable mediwitch, has agreed to look after him during full moons and the following morning. There is a location on the grounds where he can transform far away from other students, and otherwise he will live a completely normal life. He will make friends and receive a proper magical education. I think you know, Mrs. Lupin, that your son is very bright. He deserves this chance."

After a long stretch of silence, his father spoke up. "And no one will know about his...condition?"

"You mean besides Madam Pomfrey and myself? Not a soul. I shall keep his secret from anyone else, as it is not mine to reveal," the headmaster replied solemnly. "I understand the harsh reality of Remus' affliction, but I think we all should remember that it's not an easy thing for an eleven-year-old to cope with, even a highly intelligent one."

Later that evening, his parents let Remus read the letter. It informed him that he had been accepted to Hogwarts. He'd never felt accepted anywhere until now. He would learn new things and meet children his own age who, because they didn't know what he truly was, might even be his friends.

)O(

The years changed him, Mrs. Lupin could tell. He came home over Christmas and summer holiday with wild tales of his three best friends. As time progressed they became Prongs, Padfoot, and Wormtail. Such strange nicknames. To her they would always be: the fat one—Peter Pettigrew, the handsome one—James Potter, and the one who never stopped eating—Sirius Black.

The Marauders. They seemed like nice enough boys, though not the best influence on Remus. Maybe her son would be a good influence on _them_. Her son received almost daily letters whenever the Marauders were apart. In the summer following his second year at Hogwarts, Remus brought these boys home for the first time. She'd just been so thrilled he had some real friends, even if one did whisper: "Moony, why didn't you tell me your mum's hot?"

"That would be incest, mate."

"Not for me," the boy grinned. He'd repeatedly complimented her cooking and was already eating a third plate of food, thus Sirius earned her private moniker for him. These were innocent enough times, before the war, when there still existed a sort of normality. But she was shocked when, during Christmas break his sixth year, all the Marauders and green-eyed Lily Evans showed up in her house...on a full moon.

"It's okay, Mum," Remus had said, smiling reassuringly though she knew how ill he always felt before and after a transformation. "They studied for years to become Animagui. Can you image Sirius opening a book? He must really care. They all do, including Lily, and they want to make...tonight...easier for me."

Tears filled her eyes, because people _knew_ and they still cared. It was such a relief. Remus would be all right. He had friends, the kind that stay with you through life and every full moon.


	2. Friends

It's dawn after a hard January night. She'd collected him from the Shack, noting that he was bloodier than usual, and brought him to the bed in her hospital wing reserved for his use only. Poppy always sleeps fitfully during a full moon; she worries for that poor boy who has to suffer alone. And she truly knows the extent of his suffering because she is the one who heals every self-inflicted wound.

Tonight the wolf had tried to tear off its own skin with particular enthusiasm, which has resulted in deep claw marks and scratches all across his chest. Poppy silently curses Fenrir Greyback, the full moon, fate—everything and everyone but Remus. It isn't his fault.

It doesn't surprise her at all when three-fourths of the famous Marauders appear seemingly from thin air. It's not the sort of magic they should be able to do, so she figures it must be one of their tricks. They look exhausted and concerned, probably because the last Marauder is lying in a hospital bed, and he's white as the sheets. There will be scars, she knows—well, more scars than Remus already has anyway.

"He's still asleep, obviously," she tells them. "You three should get some rest as well, in fact. Isn't there a rule about being out of bed too early? Or have you even bothered to read the rule book?"

"Book? Read? Rules?" James Potter seems to joke automatically, but his voice sounds hollow. "We don't understand these strange words."

They all just watch Remus, his light brown hair matted with sweat and blood. Clearly these boys are stunned by their friend's injuries. This is the worst he's ever been after a transformation.

"Is he okay?"

"That's a stupid question, Pete. Look at him!"

"You will keep your voice down in my hospital wing, Mr. Black, especially before I've had my coffee!" Poppy scolds.

"Is he going to die?" Peter Pettigrew asks desperately. "What'll we do without Moony?"

"Proba'ly go to th' library," a weak voice suggests. Everyone turns and realizes his eyes have fluttered open. He blinks a few times, notices them staring. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"It's just that..." James pauses. "Well, the thing is—"

"There's a big chunk of it missing, mate," Sirius says solemnly.

"Yeah," he mutters sleepily. "'s okay. Wolf moon: full moon in January. It's...worse. I don't know why."

"Oh no," James says lightly, with a gentle smile. "Remus Lupin doesn't know something. I think we should be very worried, guys."

"Don't forget the good Madam Pomfrey here," Sirius chimes in, his mood also lifting now that he knows everything will be all right. "Thanks for looking after our dear Moony during his time of the month. We're going to help him, too. We have a plan."

"You always have a plan," Poppy remarks. She's not at all surprised that they know their friend is a werewolf. And yet these boys stay. That's true friendship right there.

Remus has fallen back asleep. The three Marauders grin, promising to return later with chocolate and books for him. She smiles to herself. This boy is so loved. At least that's something; in fact, it can be everything.


	3. Family

On full moons now Remus goes out into the forest and howls. Then he wakes up disoriented, covered in blood that he prays is his own, and his throat is raw. He can't speak for days afterward.

This isn't depression. Wizards don't get depressed. When muggles do it's something wrong with their brains, but for him all emotion is tangible. Anger, fear, grief, joy-they have immense power. Remus must be careful. Personally, he feels like a swirling vortex of misery that could swallow the world.

He is alone, which is no life for a human and certainly not for a wolf. He can't keep a job or a girlfriend. All his friends are dead. His family (James, Sirius, Lily...) is gone. Even Remus' parents hid him away as a child because they were afraid of him, but more afraid of what the neighbors might think, refusing to let him attend Hogwarts until Dumbledore visited; they never loved their son as much as the friends he made at school did.

Now he's lost everything, including his living arrangements.

"You're a nice bloke an' all, Mr. Lupin," his landlord had said. "But you're also three months behind on rent, and with the economy the way it is..."

A post-war economy. Death Eaters and werewolves aren't allowed decent jobs. Not that Remus is a Death Eater.

His spare, shabby clothes and what little remains of his money are kept in a scuffed up briefcase. Sometimes he just boards the knight bus and rides aimlessly. Sometimes he will see what he thinks is the shape of black dog as the bus speeds on.

When they finally kick him off the knight bus around two in the morning, Remus really does see a shaggy mutt running up to him, which is very strange because this usually only happens in dreams or when he's very drunk. He is only a little drunk at the moment.

"Go on, get out of here!"

The dog just whines.

"What? You're a stray? Well, you can't come home with me because I haven't got one!"

Remus apparates to the first location he can think of, But somehow the damn dog has followed him. Their house is dark and it takes a considerable while for someone to answer his knock at the door. Molly Weasley blinks away tiredness from her eyes and stares at him in disbelief.

"Merlin's beard, Remus! Are you all right?" she exclaims, but in a whisper as not to wake the children. "Come in! Come in!"

"What about the dog?"

Puzzlement crosses her features. "What dog, Remus?"

He enters the house dazed, noting that this old place hasn't changed much since the war ended and he stopped visiting, and apologizes for not realizing how late it is. Molly just orders Remus to sit down in a comfortable while she fixes something for him to eat, and he obeys.

"What happened?" she asks gently.

"I got fired for missing work, and evicted from my flat," he replies quietly. "I rode aruond on the knight bus until they realized I didn't have anywhere to go. Then I saw this black dog and...I thought about Sir—you know. I wanted to die; I was afraid."

"Oh, Remus..." Her eyes fill with tears.

"There wasn't even a dog!" His head drops into his hands. "I think I'm losing my mind, Molly."

"Nonsense, Remus Lupin," she says sternly. "And no one would blame you if you were. It's only been a year!"

"Harry will be two-years-old," he observes. "Do you suppose Lily's sister treats him well?"

"I know she does, otherwise she'll regret it. That boy is so loved in our world."

After a brief pause, Remus says: "I'd have raised him myself, you know, if I could. If it was allowed for werewolves..."

"I know, dear," Molly sighs sadly. "We all would have, but Dumbledore insisted the safest place for Harry was with his muggle relatives."

He will try to reassemble the pieces of his life, because he owes it to James and Lily and their son, who wouldn't like to see him in such a state. Remus will try not to dwel on the fact that he is now the last Marauder—two are dead, one betrayed them. In a way he's died, too, but he won't dwell on it. Not anymore.


End file.
